Dominating Jess: A Fantasy Fulfilled Novella

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One - Naked in
Public

Chapter Two - Whipped in
Public

Chapter Three - Fucked
in Public

About the Author

Dedication

For Jami Malroux, who makes me brave.

Chapter One - Naked in Public

I never expected to be
standing almost naked in the middle of a square in Riga, my hands tied behind
my back, hobbles on my feet, a ball gag shoved into my mouth so far I could
almost feel the rubber pressing against my tonsils. If you’d asked me two weeks
ago what I’d be doing on the second Tuesday of October, I’d have told you I’d
probably be in my gym, teaching a Muay Thai class to fourth-graders. But
instead, I was down to just my black bra and lace thong, teetering on my high
red heels, displayed as if I were some kind of art installation. What I was
most embarrassed by was how wet I was. I glanced down, just once, to see if it
was obvious. I hated to move my head at all—any motion seemed to make the
people drinking coffee at the little tables dotting the square notice me all
over again. And yes, it
was
obvious. I’d dripped through the lace at my
crotch, and the concrete at my feet was slick. I’d never been more embarrassed
in my life. I glanced back up and caught Jake’s eye. He’d been drinking his
espresso and speaking to the shop owner in a language I couldn’t understand,
but now he stood.

Thank goodness. Maybe
this was all we’d do today. He would take me back to the hotel and let me put
my clothes back on, and we’d go down to the bar and laugh about this over some
strange Eastern European alcohol that I couldn’t pronounce. Jake and I went way
back, after all. We were friends. Sure, it was weird as hell to be here like
this, with him, but it would make a hell of a dinner party story someday,
right?

Instead of leading me
away gently, though, Jake touched the top of my breast above my bra, right
where I was most sensitive. If I could have moved my mouth around the gag, I
would have gasped, but as it was, I just sucked spittle around the rubber, my
eyes widening, tearing at the surprise. He leaned in and said low in my ear,
“How dare you drip like that? What were you thinking, whore? I should make you
get down on your knees and lick it up, only you’d like that too much.” He
smacked the top of my breast lightly, then harder, a solid slap that echoed
sharply in the square. I knew my cheeks couldn’t get any redder, and my stomach
was in knots. Quaking, I knew my juices were running even more. I couldn’t help
it. I couldn’t stop the reaction, that heated rush.

That was the awful,
wonderful part.

I was terrified.

It had started that
morning, after Jake had knocked on my hotel room door, asking solicitously
after my night’s sleep. He’d shaken his head when he saw me in jeans, and he’d
asked me in a kind voice to change. He held up a bag from Neiman Marcus.
“Bought these before we left. I hope they fit. Do you have a black bra and
panties?” I did; I’d packed my scantiest black lace, with the vague notion that
Jake might like something rather see-through. Of course, last night, when I was
still carefully not thinking about how the hell I’d ended up in Latvia, I
hadn’t given much thought to the fact that
everyone
would be seeing
it.
 
“Go change.” I’d obliged,
darting into the bathroom to change in private. The black skirt was lightweight
and short, but it fit me perfectly. The red low-cut top was something I would
have bought myself. When I’d come out, he’d winked at me, and pointed at the
red stilettos he’d presented to me at dinner the night before. “Those, too, if
you don’t mind.”

When we’d gotten to
the square an hour ago, Jake had started slowly. He bought me a coffee with
milk and then had stood behind me, massaging the muscles in my neck. “You
nervous, Jess? Come on, tough girl. In the seven years I’ve known you, you’ve
never been scared of anything. No need to be worried.” His hands were wide,
warm, and startlingly strong. I’d wanted Jake to touch me for years, so I
relaxed backward, letting him work out the knots that had formed on the long
plane ride. “Okay, give me one of your hands,” he said, tugging my arm gently
as he brought it behind the back of the wrought-iron chair. The sun beat warmly
on the top of my head, and I felt a judder of excitement. “That’s right, just
like that. Take a sip of your coffee like a good girl. Great. Now your other
hand.”

He tied my wrists
loosely at first. The binding was red silk, and it felt soft against my skin,
but when I pulled against it to test its strength, the knots held firm. I had
to work to catch my breath. A German tourist couple sat down, spreading their
backpacks and maps on the table next to us. The woman, a blonde with an unhappy
expression, caught sight of me, my arms behind me, red silk spilling to the
ground. She gaped.

“So far so good?”

Feeling proud of
myself, I straightened, pushing out my chest as I nodded. I’d felt incredibly
sexy at that moment, the only woman in the square with bindings on her wrists
for anyone (
anyone!
) to see.

I’d thought maybe that
would be it for the day.

But Jake had had other
plans.

After holding the
coffee cup carefully to my lips several more times, he ran his thumb over my
lip, dragging lightly against the bottom one. The touch had made me shake more
than if he’d kissed me.

Of course, he didn’t
do that. Back home, we were just pals. I’d imagined him kissing me before,
sure, on some of the late nights we’d spent in Greenwich Village bars,
bullshitting with our circle of pals. But we’d never had a sexual moment
between us. Sadly.
 

After I finished the
coffee, he had me stand next to the table. He crouched at my feet, taking
something from the backpack he’d brought. It looked like a set of black leather
handcuffs, except the cuffs were separated by a short length of thick chain.

“What are you doing?”
I asked. Even with my hands behind my back, I could kick his ass—anyone’s
ass—if my feet were free. Kicking was a critical element of Muay Thai,
after all. Sometimes I fastened my students’ arms behind them and had them
practice that way. One
te chiang
to the ribs followed by a
khao thon
,
and an untrained person would drop. No arms needed.

“Nothing you won’t
thank me for.”

No way. I was here to
push the limits I knew I had, but this was going too far, too fast. “I don’t
think so.”

Still kneeling in
front of me, Jake put one hand on the back of my calf. “Are you done?”

“Done?”

“If this is all you
can handle, we’ll call it off right now. It’s fine. I know a place that serves
karbonade
,
the best pork chops with potatoes in the world.”

I closed my eyes,
needing to think.

“Maybe this is as much
as you can take.”

Damn him. “Do it.”

“You’re sure?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“I’ll be in charge,
Jess. Not you,” he reminded me. We’d talked about it on the plane. I’d agreed
to it. I’d even signed paperwork with what I would and wouldn’t do.

It still rankled. “I
know.”

There was a click and
a snap, and I felt cold leather first on one ankle, then the other.

I felt fear rise somewhere
above my abdomen.

“So who’s in charge
here?” Jake’s voice was kind but firm as he pushed on my shoulders to place me
in my seat again.

I had the urge to say
loudly,
I am!
I was always in charge. In every situation, I was in
control. Ever since I was a kid, since my mother forced me into the position of
caring for her, since I had to learn at ten how to pay the bills in order to
make sure the electricity stayed on, I’d been in charge. A drunk for a mother
is sometimes more fun that people might imagine—we had ice cream parties
at midnight and she never made me wear a coat if I really didn’t want to. Once,
when I asked for a puppy, she brought home a litter of seven (all of which had
be given to the shelter when the landlord found out).

But when it came to
making sure I was okay, when it came to taking care of me in that sort of
important food-shelter-clothing way, no, she’d never done that.

So to relinquish any
control was hard. I’d had enough therapy to know I wasn’t good at it. I didn’t
even like someone pointing out a parking spot to me. I could find my own damn
spaces, thank you very much. Just the fact that my arms were pinned behind me
was rough. And to add shackles to my ankles? In public? I was halfway to
hyperventilation.

“Who’s in control, Jess?”

I shook my head, hard.
I wouldn’t say it.

He touched the side of
my cheek softly. Sweetly. God, this was
Jake.
The feelings I’d had for
him when we first met came flooding back to me. I’d been so devastatingly
attracted to him, to his long, rangy limbs and the mop of dark wavy hair that
flopped in front of those startlingly smoky gray eyes. He’d felt it too, I knew
that. But he’d always been in a relationship, or on the rare occasion he was
single, I would be seeing someone seriously. Timing-wise, it had just never
worked out.

Besides, he owned
Fantasy Fulfilled. His company made money exploiting the sexual fantasies of
women who couldn’t pull off choreographing their own. I’d given him so much
shit over the years I still couldn’t believe I was here. Of course, if directly
faced with how I felt about the sex industry, I would say I believed in it. I
thought women should be paid well to do what they wanted to do, and if what
they desired was to strip or to have sex on camera, then they should have that
right to do it safely. The same went for men.

It was just weird,
that was all. Jake and I rode bikes together in Central Park on Sunday
mornings. His dog Ranger loved me because I always saved him the last bit of my
cream-cheese bagels. It was disconcerting to think of Jake with his clothes
off. And hot. Okay, the thought was
blazing
hot.

That hotness, that’s
what had gotten me into all this. With a wicked look after maybe one too many
beers one night, in the middle of a game of poker, it had been down to just the
two of us left playing the hand. I raised, throwing in a twenty. I had a full
house. No way was he beating me.

He saw it with a
twenty of his own, and then said, “I raise you a Fantasy Fulfilled trip.”

I laughed. “What?”

“You win, I pay for one
of your friends, any of them, to take a trip with my company. I win, you come
with me on a tour.”

I blinked. “I wouldn’t
do that.”

He raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t want your friend to be pleased in every specific way she’s ever
imagined?”
 

Across from me, Wendy
squirmed in her seat. “Oh, Jess, do it for
me.
”

“I don’t have...” I
couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Fantasies?” He leaned
back and fixed me with that smoky stare. “I know you do, tough girl.”

I did. God, could he
see them on me? “Besides, I know what you specialize in.”
Bondage.
Domination. Disgrace. Humiliation.
“I couldn’t let myself do that.”

“Jess in control,” he
said.

“Always,” I said. I
was proud of the way I was. I’d never admit to the tiny part of me that longed
to change it, just a little.

“So you fold?”

Something in
me—pride, excitement—made me shake my head. “I’m in.”

I lost, of course.

Now, sitting in the
square, Jake staring at me with an expression I’d never seen on his face
before, I became so nervous I felt my fingertips tremble against each other. I
tightened my fingers around the silk binding behind me and held on.